


Just a Bit of Fun

by starhawk2005



Series: A Light in the Dark [1]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: BDSM elements, F/M, Het, Loki!POV, Prequel, Smutty Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 08:14:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starhawk2005/pseuds/starhawk2005
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/470918/chapters/814742">Embracing the Dark.</a> (Loki/Jane, BDSM). After he is taken back to Asgard, Loki escapes his prison and decides to return to Midgard. How can an angry and hurting god pass the time? Oh look, there’s Thor’s <i>woman</i>. He did promise to pay her a visit, right? Loki’s POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Bit of Fun

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Many thanks as always to canyr12, Norse Goddess of Beta’ing.  
> Disclaimer: Loki wants to own Jane, and yet I can’t own either of them? How unfair is that?  
> Author’s Note: Gift!fic for my awesome beta and sounding board, canyr12. Many of the ideas here are due to several lengthy discussions we’ve had, about Loki and his characterization and motivations. 
> 
> Also, I’m currently working on a sequel to Embracing the Dark, too. It’s not over by a long shot, not if Loki has his way with ~~me~~ my Muses.

Banner courtesy of the lovely **cincoflex**!  
  
  


Had this been any other situation, no doubt Loki would have found the whole thing perfectly amusing. He, the God of Lies, the Trickster, having been taken in by the greatest lie, the greatest _trick_ , of them all.

He, the master of illusions, has in fact been wearing one his entire life, all the while completely unaware that he was doing so. An illusion of normalcy, covering over the patterned blue skin and red eyes of a _Jotun_.

But he is not in a laughing mood. Falling from the Asbru bridge, winding up a prisoner of Thanos, and all that came after….but he doesn’t want to think about that, not now.

He paces his jail cell slowly, nursing his anger, glaring out the small barred window. Once, the sight of Asgardian constellations might have comforted him (or perhaps he is being overly nostalgic), but now they are only a reminder of everything that has been taken from him. His Asgardian identity, his powers, his right to rule. Even his freedom. 

The bars and walls of the cell shimmer, all of it laced through with Odin’s magic, keeping him penned in. Loki has tried everything, tried to use his magic to cast illusions outside the cell to distract his guards, tried to cloak himself from their sight. But even with great effort, he can only conjure things inside the cell, and even those look transparent and half-formed, and cloaking himself in magic and trying to make his escape that way seems hopeless.

So he paces and tries not to think about all that has come before this moment. But despite his promise to himself, he cannot help but think back to arriving at Asgard once more, chained and gagged and in the company of Thor and the Tesseract. He had tried, oh how he had tried to explain to Thor and Odin why he had done what he had. 

Yes, even he must acknowledge that his former plot to destroy Jotunheim was motivated by madness and rage, but the rest, all that came after he fell into the void between realms? Loki shakes his head. 

Everything he had done – _everything_ \- had been for Asgard. 

But they do not believe him. The rage and pain are such that he thinks he might drown in them.

It makes him even angrier that Odin will not admit his part in these affairs, either. That Odin refuses to acknowledge that in hiding his heritage from Loki, and in grooming him to rule those…. _monsters_ on Jotunheim, that perhaps the great All-Father had been in error. But no, the fault is ever Loki’s, according to his ‘loving family’. Disgust with Odin adds itself to Loki’s rage and pain.

His mother (yet not, never his) has been to see him several times, but thus far he has refused to talk to her. What is there to say? He will not repeat the tale again. Thor, too, has deigned to visit, but it always degenerates into shouting matches, and Loki soon tires of even that release of his anger. The most deserving target, Odin, of course does not come.

So Loki paces and tries not to think, continuing to periodically test the limits of his cage, of the magic that contains him, searching for an exit. He will not repent, not even to earn his freedom. It would be a lie, and even as the so-called God of Lies, there are some falsehoods that even Loki does not wish to speak. 

He is not blameless, that much he will admit, however reluctantly, but he will _not_ serve as their scapegoat.

He does not know how long he has been caged here. Several cycles of the sun, certainly, but how _many_? Irrelevant. Time is not normally a concern to a being as long-lived as him. But it does frustrate him, that he cannot find a way out of this cage, no matter what tricks he attempts, and the longer he is here, the more his frustration grows.

Finally it occurs to him, that perhaps not all of his magic has been chained by Odin.

Loki waits until the quietest part of the evening, then flexes his hands, summoning that most hated part of himself, the magic that he would prefer to forget that he has access to.

His hands turn blue as the _cold_ rushes into them, and Loki smiles but without any pleasure. So, _this_ part of him still is at maximum capability. _Foolish All-Father_ , he thinks, but his triumph is dim and distant.

It is too bad that he cannot access the Casket of the Jotuns, but that part of his magic has also been chained. He cannot open the pocket dimension where he is keeping it. No matter. He will have to make do with what Jotun powers he can muster on his own, nauseous as that notion makes him.

More out of curiosity than anything else, as he does not truly know the limits of his Jotun abilities, he wraps his hands around the lock of the cell door, channeling every last ounce of _cold_ into them that he can. Soon he cannot feel his hands. The ice spreads faster than he expects, engulfing the lock, climbing the bars, and Loki pulls his hands from the lock with a great effort. 

Not truly believing it will work, he kicks at the frozen bars with all his strength. To his elation, the bars give with a satisfying crack. He kicks again, aiming this time for the lock itself, and the metal shatters like glass, the remains of the lock falling to the floor with a bang that makes Loki wince. He can already hear the shouts from down the corridor.

He shoves the twisted cell door open, and as soon as he crosses the threshold of his cage, his true magic (as far as he is concerned) returns to him like water filling a vessel. He smiles in sheer glee, filling the jail with smoke and casting several duplicates of himself, just as the guards come running. 

He knows he could just kill them, but since that will not do anything to improve his standing at court, he merely knocks them out one by one and steals some daggers before slipping down the corridor. He runs, cloaking himself in his magic, heading into the bowels of the castle, to the last remaining place that he thinks can get him away from Asgard.

It takes a little time, but Loki finds the spot, a place that feels both warm and cold, though only a master of magic like himself is capable of realizing what that indicates. Good, it is still here. He had worried that Heimdall would find this egress from Asgard, but apparently it has not been discovered yet. 

He looks down at his hands, and Odin’s illusion is back on them. Once again, he can pretend that he is not the monster. Perhaps he should be grateful to the All-Father; it’s the only true gift his ‘father’ has given him. Even if it should never have been necessary in the first place. But then again, his true father had left him to _die_.

Loki shakes his head. This is not the time or place. He reaches for the pathway’s magic and pulls it towards him, weaving it into the shape he needs. When his makeshift Bifröst is ready, he points it to the only relatively ‘safe’ place he can think of, and narrows his thoughts to focus on that one place.

Everything turns white, then breaks apart in coloured shards, and he finds himself standing in a desert, alien stars wheeling above him.

He’s on Midgard. 

He feels like laughing. _‘Safe’,_ this _place?_ Regrettably, it is true. The mortals pose no threat to him, and even the so-called Avengers (except for that blasted green _beast,_ but next time, Loki will be ready) are laughably weak. Loki should be safe enough here, so long as he keeps himself hidden from Heindall’s spying eyes. Easy enough, as such has long been second nature to him.

He starts walking, wrapping himself in the colours of the air and hiding himself from any mortal eyes that may be watching. Until he knows exactly where he is, it seems prudent. Weak though they are, he does not know how many mortals may recognize him, and he has had his fill of battles for the moment.

All too soon, he discovers where he is. The barest _taste_ of familiar magic drifts across the night air, and despite his better judgment, he follows it. When he encounters the sigil of the Bifröst, burned into the desert floor and half-buried by sand, he clenches his fists in rage. Of course, the very last place on Midgard he wants to be, that is where he winds up.

He smiles humorlessly, then, letting his hands relax. _I did promise Thor that I would pay his woman a visit._ He imagines how it would frighten Thor, to know his little brother is so _close_ to her. Not that Loki has any intention of revealing himself to any Asgardian watchers who may be seeking him, but it amuses him to imagine Thor’s reaction, if he found out. 

It’s a petty revenge, but it’s not as if he has anything better to do. He has no friends, no family, no allies. No one. So he will take what small pleasures he can, whatever diversions he can, wherever he can. 

He finds the laughable excuse for a city easily enough, especially once he finds the first old signs of scarring on the earth, left over from the Destroyer. He pushes aside any feelings of guilt. Feeling such is of no use, and in any case, he hadn’t been in his right mind back then. He will admit to that much, but he refuses to own _all_ the blame for this. Some must surely fall on the All-Father, and on all those who perpetrated the great lie of his existence.

Once at the edge of the city, it takes merely one quick, simple spell, and he locates her easily enough. He could teleport his way to her, but perversely, he chooses to walk through the city, glaring darkly at everyone he passes, though of course they do not see him. By this time, the sun has risen, and it is well on the way to mid-morning when Loki is standing in front of _the woman’s_ laboratory. He remembers her face, seen through the fiery red haze of the Destroyer’s vision, recalls her kneeling over the prone body of Thor. Spotting her through the many windows, Loki recognizes her as the would-be consort of his un-brother. He smiles without humour again. How unfortunate for _her_ , that she will be the one to pay, instead of his brother.

For several days, he contents himself with just watching. The mortals scurry about like two-legged mice, _the woman_ obviously, foolishly, focused on finding a way to Asgard. He knows Selvig quite well, of course, after everything that’s happened, and he has absolutely no interest in the other mortal woman, but it is instructive to listen to their conversations. _The woman_ obviously pines for Thor, and it grates on Loki’s nerves almost enough to make him abandon this. Another fool, taken in by his brother’s oafish charm. _How sad for you,_ he thinks sarcastically.

But he bores quickly of just watching. Thor will never learn that he is here, and _the woman_ has no idea, either. The longer he watches, the angrier he becomes. He wants someone to _pay_ , and it may as well be her. It isn’t much, not compared to all he had before, but having power over her will do, for a time. An amusement to help pass the time here on this barren rock of a planet.

He waits until she is alone, then he enters the laboratory invisibly, moving to stand behind her. Loki is a little surprised when she spins around, obviously expecting someone to be in the room with her. He did not expect a mere mortal to be so _sensitive_. She can feel his presence, can she? Good. It fans the flames of his hatred even  further. 

He continues to haunt her for several cycles of their sun (again, he is not sure exactly how long, and it scarcely matters), once even going right up behind her, nearly against her, letting his  breath fall on her. Her panicked reaction amuses him greatly, and the thought of Thor apoplectic with helpless rage does much to increase his pleasure in the moment.

To further her unease, he then starts to allow her to see him, the briefest of glimpses at first. He lurks in Selvig’s office sometimes, other times he follows her in the street, or positions himself so she will see him as she drives by in that wheeled contraption the mortals currently favour as transport. He chooses to clothe himself as a mortal man would, as his Asgardian armour will probably lead _the woman_ to recognize him all the faster, and he would prefer to draw this game out as long as he can.

Soon she figures it out regardless, to judge by her visits to the library. He smirks as he reads about himself over her shoulder. _Ah, mortals and their penchant for embellishment._ He, turning female and birthing Odin’s horse? He hadn’t realized the Midgardians had heard that ridiculous tale. He barely restrains himself from laughing out loud at their stupidity, and alerting his prey to his presence. Still, his alleged misdeeds should be enough to increase _the woman’s_ unease, which is quite acceptable to him.

His next step is to appear to her in her dreams, silently at first, letting his armoured appearance and his expression of rage stoke the  flames of her fear. He savours her reaction, again imagining Thor’s terror and ire if he only knew. Perhaps Loki _should_ allow Heimdall to see him, as he doubts strongly that Odin would send Thor back to Midgard just to save one helpless mortal female, even if she is Thor’s most recent wench.

But then he decides against this. He’s gleaning enough enjoyment as it is. 

Especially once she finally challenges him, during one of his dream-visits. _Who are you?_

Such a paltry attempt at bravado does indeed entertain. _Surely you know. Did you not spend hours in your precious library, reading all about my misdeeds?_

She’s shaking now, and it makes him want to grin. _Loki,_ she says.

_ The very same. I told my brother that I would have to pay you a visit.  _ And I keep my promises, he gloats to himself.

When she tells him to go away, he laughs, and in the dream, he moves closer to her instead, enjoying the way she cowers back from him. Such a small victory, but it is something, is it not? _Why should I go? Thor isn’t here to protect you from me, little mortal._ For once, Thor can do nothing, and it adds to Loki’s enjoyment immensely. 

But her reaction surprises him. Not the anger, but the _bitterness_. Perhaps not everyone believes that Thor is Odin’s gift to the World’s Tree. But he won’t fool himself into thinking he’s found an ally. _The woman_ is useless to him, except as a moment’s entertainment.

After that visit, he continues to dog her steps, allowing her occasional glimpses of him, once allowing her again to feel him  breathing right behind her. Such a pleasant diversion, to watch her frightened reactions. He can almost forget everything that came before, to lead to this.

When he next chooses to visit her in her slumbers, she still puts on a brave face, and he has to grudgingly admire that. She’s utterly helpless, and she surely must know that, but he has not broken her spirit. Yet.

_ How can you even be here? _ _Thor took you prisoner-_

He interrupts her, preferring not to remember how he escaped, and the unwanted powers he’d had to access to do so. It angers him all over again, how Odin’s actions once again had forced him to acknowledge his monstrous beginnings. 

He sneers at her: _Think you that I am so easily held? What sort of trickster could I claim to be then?_ He disappears from her dream, leaving her to process that. Or rather, he lets her _think_ that he has left. Cloaked in illusion, he stands in the middle of the abode and savours the victory as he watches his prey try to stop shaking. She doesn’t weep, though. _Impressive,_ even he must admit. _For a mortal._

Loki soon invades her dreams again, curious to see what she will do this time. This time, she is the most angry he’s ever seen her, and he doesn’t hide his delight.

_ Yeah, look at the big powerful god, threatening a defenseless woman,  _ she spits at him.

He laughs, considering his response. _I’m not threatening anything, I’m_ promising _._ He prepares to watch her dissolve into tears. Surely that must finally  break her spirit.

_ Are you going to kill me?  _ She demands instead. She has stones, to be sure. If one could say that about a female.

Loki decides to give her the truth, for all the good it will do her. _Kill you? No. Where would be the_ fun _in that?_ Indeed, take her unimportant life, and this diversion is all over. He’s not yet ready to end this game, unfortunately for her. Imagining that she will only tremble uncontrollably again, he does not bother to stay and watch this time. 

The next time he appears to her, however, she seems genuinely less afraid, and it puzzles him as much as it angers him. Her fear is the point of this little exercise, is it not? He’s dangerous, he’s the one in control, and she’s _nothing_. Does she think his threats empty? 

He will have to try harder, then.

_ Why don’t you tell the truth for once? _ she demands. _Why are you here?_

Loki leers. He thinks he knows just how to put the fear back into her dark eyes. He gets close to her and leans in, invading her space, dwarfing her. _Watch your tone, mortal_ , he warns her. It takes barely a ripple of his magic to twist the dream, to make his snakes form. They have always served to startle and cause fear before.

But _the woman_ barely seems to notice, which annoys Loki even further. _Make no mistake, Jane Foster,_ he purrs - and she should be grateful he is even deigning to address her by name - _I’m a god, and you’re nothing. I_ could _kill you._ He won’t, of course, but _the woman_ doesn’t know that.

_ Then why don’t you? And don’t tell me it’s more ‘ _ fun’ _not to,_ she says. Again, unwillingly, he admires her gumption. Perhaps Thor did choose well after all – this mortal actually appears to possess a modicum of intellect. And bravery. 

It takes him a moment to think of a  suitable response, one that will put him firmly in the dominant position in this dark dance. _I_ could _kill you, but I have a better idea. Instead, I’ll make you mine. My slave. You’re going to give me everything you gave_ him, _and more. Far more._

He expects _that_ will do it. All women fear being taken against their will, and Thor’s lover ought to be no different.

It had been some time since he’d had the pleasure of bedding a woman, and it is true that he does hunger for it. But forcing a woman is beneath him; rape is, as far as Loki is concerned, the province of those without the wit to practice the fine arts of seduction. Coaxing a lover into bed, particularly a reluctant one, is a game he has always enjoyed in the past, a testament to his skill.

As much as he enjoys frightening _the woman_ , and as much as taking her against her will would frighten her even more, the thought of actually doing so turns his stomach. 

But of course, _she_ does not know that. He almost pities her.

When her response is to laugh, though, he is surprised all over again. How strange her reaction seems, and it confounds and enrages at the same time.

_ A kiss… was all… I gave him,  _ she clarifies between hysterical sounds, tears finally rolling down her cheeks. But Loki is not foolish enough to mistake those tears for pain or terror. His little entertainment is taking such unexpected turns. It fascinates him, despite himself.

But when _the woman_ stretches a hand out to him and invites him to kiss her, the rage returns to him once more in a dark tide. _How_ dare _she mock_ me _?_

He will teach her a lesson. He straddles her on the narrow bed, stretching forward until they are nose-to-nose. _I wouldn’t tease, if I were you, Jane. You have no idea what I am capable of doing to you._ He conjures the sound of snakes. Even he’s not sure exactly what he is threatening her with this time exactly – rape? bodily harm? – but he can’t imagine her laughing at him _now_. 

But she holds his gaze, despite her obvious fear. Equal parts disappointed and surprised, he abruptly departs her dream. However, he chooses once again to remain in her miserable dwelling, hidden in the shadows. His curiosity won’t allow him to leave just yet.

He observes her closely. She is blushing, it appears, and it is an odd reaction, given what has come before. He finds himself approaching the foot of her bed and leaning in again, wanting to be sure. Her pupils are dilated, and unless his superior senses betray him, there is a decided scent on the air. 

_ She is _ aroused. _How deliciously unexpected._ Returning swiftly to the middle of the dwelling, standing well back from her, Loki ponders this new turn of events.

It does hold a certain appeal for him, he must admit. Small women hold no particular favour or disfavour with him, and she is shapely and comely enough, as far as he can determine. He tends to find spirited women the most enjoyable of bedmates, and she does have spirit, he will grant her that.

He watches her as she climbs out of bed, heading shakily past him to the eating area of the dwelling, sitting down at the small table. He allows himself to fantasize about what she might look like, her body bared and splayed out before him. How will she respond to his caresses? What sounds will she make? He thinks about watching the sweat bead on her pale skin, of how her face might look with her eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy. He feels his own first stirrings of arousal. It _has_ been a long time. Too long.

Enjoying the fantasy, especially while the object of his musings is so close and unaware, he continues the train of thought, moving silently to stand behind her.  When he has her well on the way to orgasm, what then? In his vast experience, some women are nearly silent in their surrender, while others broadcast their enjoyment with much noise, and how might this particular mortal react? If he brings her to the edge, will his name fall from her lips as she yields to the pleasure he provides?

It is a potent series of questions, a highly tempting fantasy that he does not think he will set aside. This is not the game he had originally planned, but the clever strategist can adjust for unexpected events, after all. He does pride himself on _that_ , if nothing else.

A number of days pass by, and Loki indeed finds himself following the mortal more out of curiosity than out of a desire to frighten. She had stood up to him when many of her peers would have cowered, and perhaps gone insane with fear. She had even, apparently, found it - _him_ \- arousing!  

Besides her body’s unexpected reaction to him, her anger and bitterness at Thor also interests Loki, if only because he had expected otherwise. Even those wenches Thor had set aside in the past after a brief dalliance always continued to speak of Thor with fondness and affection. Rare was the wench who seemed to bear the idiot a grudge, and this had always annoyed Loki beyond measure. Certainly Loki had not enjoyed such a reaction from his past conquests, at least not the majority of them. 

Could everyone truly not _see_ Thor’s flaws? So it would seem - from Odin, to the common Asgardian, to the quickly-tumbled wenches - and yet here, on Midgard, this mortal female might actually think Thor to be something other than _perfection_. Again, utterly unexpected, and interesting.

Would it not be the ultimate revenge on his un-brother; rather than terrifying Jane into madness (assuming such was even possible – she was _strong_ , apparently), instead to have her for his own? Jane Foster, willing paramour of Loki of Asgard, that would surely hit his brother hard, in a place no armour or enchanted hammer could defend him. To take his brother’s would-be lover for his own, that would be as one pleasure, heaped upon another pleasure.

Once his decision is made, Loki next wonders how best to approach her. If she has found his threats attractive (as it seems she must), that suggests that she _wants_ to submit to his rule. 

He threatens her with enslavement, and it awakens her desires? He smiles to himself. Oh yes, he’s played this particular bed-game many times before, of master and slave. In fact, it is one of his favourites, so he is only too willing to take on such a role again. How sweet will it be, that she will freely accept his rule over her, that she will yield to him something that not only had she never given Thor, but also that his brother lacks even the imagination to demand of her?

As he lurks in the shadows of her dwelling, watching Jane preparing for bed – he’s not sure exactly when he stopped thinking of her as merely _the woman_ , only that such a label no longer seems to fit – it occurs to him that she seems to be taking more care with her appearance tonight. Her hair has been left uncharacteristically loose, and she applies a balm to her lips with the same care he has seen past lovers applying cosmetics to theirs, to entice him. If he is not greatly mistaken, she is anticipating his arrival. He smiles slowly, savouring the anticipation. Frightening her had been most amusing, but this is a different sort of pleasure, and just as good.

Once she is settled into bed, he decides the time has finally come to stake his claim, and so he announces himself in a bright flash of light that is totally unnecessary, of course, but is sure to leave an impression on her. _Showmanship is very important in such a game, after all._

“Dr. Foster. _Jane_ Foster,” he says in a low purr. “So nice to finally meet in person. I’ve been looking forward to this day.” He smirks triumphantly, smug in the knowledge that he is about to win Thor’s consort for his own nefarious purposes. 

But he is distracted from this pleasing task by the narrow confines of Jane’s miniscule dwelling. He expected as much, however, and has already scouted out a larger location in advance. With only a slightly exaggerated gesture, he magicks them both to the room he selected. 

_ This is not much of an improvement, _ he decides after looking around, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “These pathetic mortals have little idea how to live,” he mutters to himself. But it matters not. The key thing is that there is much more space, and the bed, sad as it is, is large enough for two. It will serve.

When he turns his attention back to Jane, she looks afraid again, and at first it puzzles him anew. _Did she not expect this, does she not desire this very thing?_ No, he decides, surely she is only playing her assigned role, the terrified slave to her powerful captor. 

He begins again, setting the stage for the little game they are about to play. “Where was I? Ah yes. I was going to say: You were made to be ruled, Jane Foster. You require a firm hand, and I am more than willing to accept the burden. I’m only too pleased to start here and now.” He slides slowly closer and closer to her as he speaks.

He pauses to consider how they might proceed from this moment, the myriad different routes their passion might select. Making his choice, he gives her his first command. “Kneel before me!”

When she doesn’t respond at all, except for her too-rapid  breathing, he wonders if indeed he is in error. If this is true fear that he is witnessing, rather than convincing role-play. _Perhaps I have misread-_ He crosses the last of the space between them, reaches out to touch her cheek gently. When she jerks back and trips over herself trying to escape him, Loki is reluctantly forced to conclude that yes, he had been sorely mistaken as to what she wanted from him. Perhaps he had even been wrong about her desiring him at all. 

He catches the ugly table lamp before it can fall onto her. “Not fun,” he mutters to himself, looking down at her. Yes, that is real fear in her eyes. How disappointing. But he wants to be _sure_. “Why do you cower? I thought you understood this game.”

“Game? _Game?_ ” Jane snaps. “Monopoly, that’s a _game_. Scrabble is a _game._ ” 

He has no idea what she is speaking of, but yes, it is clear that things between them are not going to progress as he had envisioned. Truly, it has been too long since he has lain with a woman, if his ability to reasonably predict what one wants from him is so far off from the reality.

It is really unfortunate. He had been looking _so_ forward to this newest diversion. Now it seems it all must end. His need to frighten her no longer seems so entertaining; indeed her fear now only makes him feel vaguely regretful. She obviously wants nothing further to do with him, Thor will probably never learn what has transpired here, and Loki is wasting time that could probably be much better spent marshalling his defenses, lest Thanos and the Chitauri find him.

He looks down at her again, and she is angry now, clearly believing that he is only mocking her. “Don’t be a dick. You come here and threaten me, you tell me that you have some kind of evil plans for me, then you yank me out of my home and dump me God knows where….and now you’re _shocked_ that I’m scared? You _are_ crazy!” she snarls at him. 

His amusement returns, but it is aimed solely at himself this time. Thank Yggdrasil that none of his fellow Asgardians (particularly Fandral and Volstagg, how they would never let him hear the end of it!) are here to see him fail at this attempted seduction so embarrassingly. He smiles down at her. “I had planned nothing that you would not have thoroughly _enjoyed_ , Jane Foster,” he explains, trying to get her to see the humour in all of this, though it is not clear to him why he is bothering to do so. He winks at her and pulls her to her feet, to show her he is not quite the monster she may think of him. _At least, not_ that _kind of monster,_ he reminds himself, for a moment imagining that the hand he’s wrapped around hers is stained Jotun blue.

She’s still staring at him like she thinks he’s fit to be chained, and he can hardly blame her for that – she would not be the only one, alas. “My sincerest apologies, Lady,” he says, bending to press a courtly kiss to her hand, though the prankster in him cannot help but toss in the slightest of teases. He allows his tongue tip to sample just the smallest, quickest taste of one knuckle. After he straightens up, he adds: “Apparently, I have much to learn about Midgardian women.” _Perhaps even_ all _women, at this rate_ , he mocks himself silently.

He invites her to spend the night in the room, as he is sure that the bed here is a vast improvement over the one in her ‘ale-barrel’, then he sweeps her his most elegant bow, and takes his leave.

He lingers in the area for a few days afterwards, not really sure why he is doing so. He would rather not think about his enemies and what they did to him, and what they might do if they find him again, but it seems a better use of his time. So he manages to make himself examine what energies he might be able to make use of here on Midgard (few, it appears), and he comes up with a sketchy plan or two if he needs to escape Midgard quickly. 

He even sneaks onto a SHIELD base once, just to see what they are up to, but other than the fact that they are not currently searching for him, he discovers nothing of use to him. 

In truth, he has not much taste for planning these days. Thanos and his allies may or may not find him, and even if they do, will his plans even work? For all his plotting, Jotunheim still exists, and he is still outcast from Asgard. Even his little game with Jane failed astronomically, and he can’t even place the blame on Thor this time. Perhaps he is not the strategist he believed himself to be. It is not a welcome notion.

The problem is that he has just too much time to _think_ , and he would rather not ponder all that he has lost. If he is honest with himself (ah, the irony, honesty from the God of Lies), he feels the weight of loneliness all the more keenly now. If nothing else, his games with Jane had served well to distract him from that unpleasant fact, but it is over now, and there is nothing else to divert him from the unpalatable facts of his current situation.

It is tempting to visit her again, to watch her without her knowing, but he resists. Ultimately, it will be a waste of his magic and energy. And yet, he continues to linger in the area, never able to articulate to himself what is keeping him here. Midgard is certainly large enough; there is no reason for him to stay.

After more than a sevenday has passed, he is on the verge of deciding that this is indeed pure foolishness. He has wasted enough time on both pointless revenge and clumsy seductions, and there are things he should be doing before Thanos finds him (and he likely will). Just before he leaves, Loki stretches his senses out to encompass the city one final time, trying to determine if there is anything or anyone here at all that may be of use to him. He considers, and not for the first time, that he could somehow use Jane or Selvig (or both) to finish her fledgling Bifröst and then use it for his own purposes, but the thought does not really appeal to him. He has done enough to both of them, has he not? And there is no power source on Midgard strong enough now to power such a device, so it would be an entirely useless venture.

But then, he senses _her_ calling his name. Instantly, he materializes in her hollow metal abode, before he can think better of it, but he rapidly wraps himself in illusion, hiding from her. It does not surprise him that his next reaction is anger. He is not some cur, to come to heel when called.

When he decides to allow her to see him, he gets right to the point. “You summoned me. Explain yourself, woman.” The brazen little vixen had best have a _good_ reason for doing so.

“I want to know what changed your mind,” she says, looking nervous.

“You dare summon me back for an _interrogation_?” He is tempted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it, but instead he steps threateningly towards her. _Foolish mortal._ He truly _should_ have punished her before.

When she stands her ground and insists, his anger cools to mere irritation. _Why am I surprised?_ She has spirit, he knows it well. “From what to what?” he spits out, turning away from her. He doesn’t dare hope-

“You were angry. And no matter what you say now, I think you did want to hurt me-“

“Who says I won’t now?” Loki snarls at her, moving to stand right in front of her. He won’t hurt her, he no longer wants to, but he is rapidly losing what little patience he possesses. Let her justify her actions, and quickly, and then he will depart this cheerless corner of Midgard for good, his curiosity exhausted.

“You won’t,” she says, and once more he reluctantly must admire the fact she has some meager intellectual capacity. “I think you did want to hurt me at first, but now you aren’t going to. I want to know _why_.”

The sheer impudence of her question only serves to increase his annoyance. He is sorely tempted to depart, to leave her to ponder the answer to that question herself, til the end of her all-too-brief days. 

But finally, he decides that he can see no reason not to be truthful. He tells her about their mutual hate for Thor, about how they may be the only two beings in Yggdrasil who _do_ hate him…but he stops himself before he reveals too much. She has not earned the privilege.

By the end of his explanation, he is curious all over again. It seems a petty reason to risk his wrath, for her to call him back here, just to find out why he has no further interest in his previous mind-games with her.

So he returns to her and makes her meet his eyes. “I’ve answered your question, mortal, now you answer one of mine. Why did you summon me?”

There is a long pause, and then she says: “Because I wanted to.”

He releases Jane and paces the room, considering. Perhaps he had _not_ been so far off in his estimations of what she desired. Just too heavy-handed in his approach? He decides to test that theory. 

“What else do you want?” he asks her, putting a caressing edge in his voice. If she balks yet again, he promises himself, he shall magick himself instantly halfway around this world, and forget all this ever took place. 

She pauses again, and seems to consider for a long moment. Finally, she admits: “I want to be yours.” 

_ How unexpected. _ The game is back on. He will just have to take a bit more care in his approach to her. She is more skittish than he anticipated, but perhaps he should have predicted that; the power differential between the two of them is wider than the gulf between Alfheim and Vanaheim.

She’s trembling again, he notices, but if he compares it against her words, against the look in her eyes; it’s desire, finally, for him. There’s anxiety, of course, and that’s to be expected, but he finds himself wanting to be sure; he wants to hear it from her lips, her consent to the bounds of their arrangement. “Then you _will_ be. Mine, and mine alone. Do you understand?” 

At her nod, he has to forcibly restrain his glee. He will prove himself worthy of her submission. And he will know not only the pleasure of being inside her, and of bringing pleasure forth from her, but also the pleasure of knowing that he has won Thor’s favoured consort from him. 

A worthy diversion, indeed.

 


End file.
